A Good Walk Spoiled
by Ursa Dextra
Summary: Welcome to Night Vale: A romantic walk in the park goes awry for Cecil and Carlos.


Carlos' eyes gradually ease open, then, on second thoughts, snap shut again. Cecil, who has been patiently waiting for such an action for several hours by his bedside, springs from his chair to coax forth any more promising signs of wakefulness. The scientist is dimly aware of this, or something like it; although no response seems possible just yet.

"Carlos?" Cecil whispers gently, "Are you awake, my perfect Carlos?"

The eyelids once more attempt their grand opening, one slightly more successfully than the other, and reveal the image of a concerned yet hopeful three-eyed face against the backdrop of... some room or other...

His own bedroom, that's where it is. And this is Cecil, and... Aah, ankles! There's a fierce, burning pain in his ankles, up his legs to his knees. Groggily he murmurs a noise of reply and tries to sit up.

"Oh, I'm so glad you're awake at last, I thought I must have given you too many painkillers, I... No, no, lie back, I called the lab and said you wouldn't be in today. There's a doctor coming to see you at half three. I'm going to warn everyone on my show tonight. Oh, my Carlos, let me take care of you. "

Carlos struggles to reciprocate as his boyfriend shuffles over onto the bed, gently kisses and caresses his face, whispering words of love and comfort in that soothing, rhythmic voice of his. Little by little, the events of the preceding evening emerge, dream-like, from the back of his memory; He remembers passing a florist's , and on a whim, buying a rose that sang when sniffed and occasionally changed colour. Just a nice surprise for his beloved. He remembers meeting Cecil outside the radio station, offering him the singing, colour-change rose, seeing his little face light up. There had been kissing and hand-holding and giggled hints and promises of more to come when they got home. A short-cut through the park.

It had been a quiet evening in Night Vale, but not worryingly so. The kind of quietness that only occurs one in a while, when no portals to unknown worlds had opened and there had been no sudden decimations of the population for quite some time. Carlos had felt almost _safe_, as if he was back home in... that place, what was it called, that he used to live. That safe place. Where some things were impossible, where you predict with a fair amount of certainty what would or wouldn't happen tomorrow, or if there'd even _be_ a tomorrow. He'd been planning to go back there at one point, but now...

He remembers that short-cut through the park. They'd made very slow progress, stopping every couple of yards to cuddle again, and again, and to kiss and squeeze each other and make passers-by unsure of where to look. And Carlos had felt his ever-simmering passion for his beloved bubble more furiously with each touch until something just _had_ to be done about it; Looking into Cecil's face, he'd seen the same desperation. So they'd scurried into a thicket of bushes to remedy the situation, and that was when it had happened.

He'd been too distracted by the flurry of hands and lips and clothes-fastenings to think too closely about his feet, or the thing that closed around them, until it began to feel uncomfortably hot. Sore, even. Burning!

Of course, when he'd eventually stopped to look, the source of this pain became quite obvious; his feet and lower legs were in the process of being devoured by a giant Venus Flytrap.

Carlos cannot remember exactly what he did upon realising this, but he can clearly recall Cecil leaping to his aid – kicking, stamping, biting, clawing at the flesh-eating plant, bellowing incantations at it, struggling with all his might to prise open its jaws and finally collapsing in a sobbing heap over its gigantic green trap. Cecil's despairing tears running down his nose and chin, dripping onto the green surface, turning it... reddish? The redness spreading over the whole area of the plant's mouth, turning to yellow, and finally brown. Sludgy. It had completely wilted.

Carlos had let Cecil help him to his feet and help him stumble home, though both of them were still shaken. His shoes had taken most of the acid damage, though his ankles were red and blistered and in agony. Cecil had cleaned him up and bandaged his burns and filled him brim-full with painkillers, and carried him off to bed.

That's all he remembers.

"Thankyou," mumbles Carlos sleepily as he settles into his boyfriend's embrace, "thankyou for looking after me."

"Oh, Carlos! I'm sorry I got us into that situation. If only I could have waited five more minutes..."

"It's not your fault. I might have died without you."

Carlos, with the beginnings of his strength, kisses Cecil on the mouth until he gives up trying to protest and kisses back instead.

"Oh, Carlos," sighs Cecil after several minutes' cuddling, "let me go and make us some coffee. I'll bring you some toast. Would you like that?"

"Yes – thankyou, Cecil. I love you."

"I love you too," replies Cecil. He gives him one long, sloppy kiss and a lingering smile before leaving the room.

Carlos listens to the sounds of his boyfriend pottering around the kitchen, the kettle boiling, the toaster making _that_ noise that it always makes. He decides that when he's up and about, he will have his team study the plant, and discover why it's vulnerable to the tears of its enemies, or warm salt water, or manifestations of sadness, or whatever it was that brought on its demise. He will watch where he's putting his feet in future. He will bear in mind that in Night Vale, even peaceful evenings and romantic trysts are not times at which it's safe to let down one's guard.

But for now, he's more than happy to be his newsreader-nurse's sole patient.


End file.
